The Slants on the Power of Repurposing a Slur

On the basketball courts at school in San Diego, I was tormented by other students. They’d throw balls, punches, rocks and insults, while yelling “gook” and “Jap.” One day, I had enough. I threw back, “I’m a chink, get it right.”

Stunned, they didn’t know what to do. Confused, they stopped.

The act of claiming an identity can be transformational. It can provide healing and empowerment. It can weld solidarity within a community. And, perhaps most important, it can diminish the power of an oppressor, a dominant group.

The idea of reappropriation isn’t new. The process of turning negative words, symbols or ideas into positive parts of our own identity can involve repurposing a racial epithet or taking on a stereotype for sociopolitical empowerment. But reappropriation can be confusing. Sometimes people can’t figure out the nuances of why something is or isn’t offensive — government bureaucrats in particular.

Over a decade ago, I started what many have referred to as the world’s first and only all-Asian-American dance rock band, the Slants. Our brand of 1980s-inspired synth pop was influenced by bands like Depeche Mode, the Cure and New Order. We toured the country, promoting social justice, playing anime conventions, raising money for charities and fighting stereotypes about Asian-Americans by playing bold music. Never once, after performing hundreds of shows across the continent, did we receive a single complaint from an Asian-American. In fact, our name became a catalyst for meaningful discussions with non-Asians about racial stereotypes.

During this time, our attorney recommended that we register the trademark on our name, something that’s commonly done for national acts. It’s a critical step in a music career, not only to protect fans from inadvertently purchasing tickets to another band with a similar name but also because most major record labels and licensing agencies won’t work with acts that can’t register their names. However, in 2010, the government rejected our name, claiming it was, of all things, disparaging to Asians. Alas, our sense of irony got lost in the paperwork.

We had called ourselves the Slants as a way of seizing control of a racial slur, turning it on its head and draining its venom. It was also a respectful nod to Asian-American activists who had been using the epithet for decades. But the Trademark Office didn’t buy it: It used sources like UrbanDictionary.com, a photo of Miley Cyrus pulling her eyes back in a mocking gesture and anonymous posts on internet message boards to “prove” that it was offensive.

The decision did not stop us from using the name. But we didn’t want to be defined by the Trademark Office. So we took our case to court. For the past seven years, I’ve supplied thousands of pages of evidence, including letters of support from prominent community leaders and organizations, independent national surveys that showed that over 90 percent of Asian-Americans supported our use of the name and an expert report from a co-editor at the New American Oxford Dictionary.

The Trademark Office fought back, calling our effort “laudable, but not influential.” In a 2011 document, the office said, “It is uncontested that applicant is a founding member” of a band “composed of members of Asian descent.” Then it pointed out the obvious Asian imagery on our website, including photographs of Asian people and an album cover with a “stylized dragon.” It was as if because we were Asian, because we were celebrating Asian-American culture, we could not trademark the name the Slants.

Yet “slant” is an everyday term — one that has been registered as a trademark many times, primarily by white people. After we won our case in a federal court, the Trademark Office asked the Supreme Court to review the case. That very same week, the office granted another new registration for “slant” to a company that makes industrial coils. I may be the only person denied a registration for “slant” because it was deemed offensive to Asian-Americans.

This week, the Supreme Court reversed the Trademark Office’s decision, striking down the law that denied trademark protection to names deemed derogatory. Some supporters of that law claim that offensive names will now routinely receive trademark protection. (The Washington Redskins is a widely cited example.) But my response is that the Trademark Office doesn’t have the cultural understanding to determine what is or isn’t racist.

Social theorists say that our identity can both be influenced by as well as influence the world around us. Every scientific study confirms that the stigma of derogatory terms like “queer” and “bitch” are mediated by perceived power when the referenced groups own them. The role of the government shouldn’t include deciding how members of a group define themselves. That right should belong to the community itself.

The battles about hate speech shouldn’t be waged at the Trademark Office, decided by those who have no connections to our communities. Those skirmishes lead to arbitrary, inconsistent results and slowly chip away at the dignity and agency of oppressed people to decide appropriateness on our terms. A person’s quality of life, opportunities and rights may hinge on that person’s identity. Those rights should not hinge on the hunch of a government employee armed with wiki-joke websites. It’s suppression of speech in the most absurd manner.

Americans need to examine our systems of privilege and the ways unconscious bias affects our attitudes. But that discussion begins with the freedom to choose our language. As we sing on “From the Heart” on our latest album, “The Band Who Must Not Be Named”:

So sorry if you take offenseBut silence will not make amendsThe system’s all wrongAnd it won’t be longBefore the kids are singing our song